well, shoot.

I didn't do several of the things I had planned to do today. Like all (most) of my readings. Or my laundry.

What I did do, though, was buy a copy of Flannery O'Connor's "The Complete Stories", because I remembered an early winter morning last year when U. and I looked at an apartment on 61st Street and when I got back all I wanted to do was sleep but instead, for some reason, I went online and found "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and read it. And I remember very well. It was completely dark in my room. And the screen was glowing. And I sat in my bed. And it was really, really good.

Good enough to prompt me to buy her collected short stories, despite the fact that I'm supposed to be saving and I have a million books I haven't read (including several I've purchased over the past couple months, like "The Brothers Karamazov" and "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", the former I abandoned for the latter, the latter I abandoned because of all the actual motorcycle jargon I didn't feel like getting through, and nothing getting picked up because I needed to sulk for a while and then I couldn't concentrate).

But, as soon as she comes in the mail, Flannery and I are going to spend some quality time together.